I’ve never been a pioneer wife, stuck in a log cabin out west or up north, where wind and snow pile up to the roof and my life is contained within the four walls. (I’ve read about it, though.)
But I’ve come close.
Since a week ago when I wrote here, I’ve been out only three times. Once to go to my Heart & Hands knitting/sewing group at church. Once for coffee (home within an hour). And once to the grocery store (also home within an hour). Unless you count sticking my nose out to check the mailbox (attached to the wall of the house) and trundling the trash bin to the curb and back again hours later, I’ve been, basically, within my four walls all week.
Now a seven-room house has more than four walls. Every room in the place has four walls. But all seven rooms have become very, very familiar. I know where every draft comes in. Where the light is best for reading or sewing. How many books I’m going to have to sort and box up and remove because they’re no longer necessary for my healthy psyche. I’ll let someone else have the joy of reading them. And how much music—sheet and book—has accumulated over the years of playing the organ and piano, and must now be sorted, culled . . . .
The reason for this self-imposed staying at home is—you guessed it—weather. We had snow a few days ago. Not much, one to three inches. But those one-to-three didn’t stay in place—the wind came along and hustled thousands of flakes around. When that was finished, the wind picked up speed and just huffed and puffed and blew in through any cracks it could find. Then to make the point even more clear, the temp dropped. Do you know what happens to 14 degrees when the wind roars around at 10-20 mph, gusting to 30? If you live in the Midwest or Northeast or Up North, I’m sure you do.
I will say one thing for staying inside—a lot of things get done. Well, let me rephrase that: They have the potential for getting done. I did clean my house (and no company was expected). I finished all but one of the Christmas gifts that had to be abandoned in December due to exhaustion and running out of time; the last gift is now nearly done. Read one book and am now engrossed in Gray Mountain, a 2014 John Grisham novel.
Life could be a lot worse.
Cabin fever is probably not a good way to describe being cooped up in the house most of the time. I’ve experienced no climbing the walls or desperate attempts to go somewhere, anywhere! I cancelled two appointments a couple of days ago and was comfortable doing that. Yesterday I even admired the snow as it fell.
Today I plan to go out (already made it to the Y for a walk): Tai chi meets at 10, then knitting with my young friend during her lunch hour. Then home for a well-deserved nap, followed by a cup of tea and another go at finishing the little quilt I want to get mailed to my great-grandson in Ohio.
I’m quite content not to be a pioneer wife, stuck in a log cabin out on the plains. Or back in the woods. Reading about that life can be illuminating, but I’ll take the time and place I occupy right now.
Hope you can celebrate your own Here-and-Now.